


30 BPM

by wordywarrior



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, NSFW, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 12:49:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17366147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordywarrior/pseuds/wordywarrior
Summary: Steve realizes waffles, a heart-rate of 30 bpm, and time away can change a person’s life.





	30 BPM

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Very mild angst, vague mentions of violence, pure fluff.

 

 

Steve could feel the frigid water seeping through his tennis shoes and into his socks. His labored breathing was unheard over the crashing waves and the empty beach was a welcome sight. Despite his outward façade and public persona, he valued his privacy, and moments when he didn’t have to worry someone was going to jump out from behind a building or fall from the sky and attack him were highly valued.

Alone time was often hard to come by in the complex time and world he lived in. Steve wondered sometimes if he had done the right thing – jumping back into the fray headfirst, not pausing for a moment to think of what being the resurrected Captain America actually meant. Steve really hadn’t had a moment of peace since he’d opened his eyes again. He had experienced such losses and heavy disappointments, and the hits just kept coming, but leaving home and cutting off all contact – even from Bucky… Well, he hadn’t wanted to do that.

It had been Y/N’s idea.

They’d been together for nearly three years. The subject of taking time away had come up on their two-year anniversary and eight months later, they still hadn’t stepped away from their jobs. Y/N hadn’t had a break in eight years. Steve didn’t know what taking a break meant.

When they’d finally agreed to take a three-month “sabbatical,” it had been a huge step; one they argued about relentlessly, especially because Y/N wanted to go completely dark and have absolute privacy. No security detail, no computers, and absolutely no cell phones. The decision to wasn’t made easily or lightly, but unable to deny her, he finally caved. One item he’d gotten her to give a little on was a cell phone – it wasn’t a smart phone and the GPS wasn’t enabled, but if there truly was an emergency, they’d at least be able to receive calls.

On the day they’d arrived at the beach house, Y/N said it would take time for him to relax, and promised to be patient with him. About two weeks into their vacation, Steve thought he’d relaxed, but in reality, he’d always been and probably always would be hyper-vigilant. They were practically on a private island, with nobody around for hundreds and hundreds of miles. Instead of being a “normal” man and lounging on the couch, eating too much junk food, and getting his girl naked every chance he could, he was thinking about all the ways in which the house could be attacked, how indefensible their position was, and how his body was the only weapon between Y/N and anything that might dare come through the door.

“When your resting heart-rate matches your sleeping heart rate, then, I’ll know you’re relaxed,” Y/N said. “30 BPM, Steve. That’s the goal.”

Natasha and Sam didn’t understand – in fact, nobody on the team did – but they let him go, and he hadn’t spoken to any of them in forty-five days. Being disconnected, unsure of what was happening, if everyone was okay, if the place he called home was safe – it wasn’t easy, and it most certainly didn’t improve his heart-rate.

As the sand of the beach kicked up behind his every stride and waves of the water roared, Steve this was the first morning he’d woken up and didn’t feel a niggling on the back of his neck during his run. The red, daybreak sun barely skimmed above the horizon, and the beachfront home they’d rented was in the distance. Instead of feeling like he had to rush toward it, he allowed himself to take in the scenery. The view truly was beautiful and he’d spent so long missing it.

Less than ten minutes later, he was back at the house, his muscles no longer burning because he’d chosen to walk the rest of the way. He climbed the small set of stairs at the back of the house and kicked off his shoes, leaving them and his damp socks on the patio to dry.

Not wanting to wake Y/N, Steve carefully opened the sliding door. He made sure to lock it and re-set the alarm before he snagged the clothes he’d put out before his run and headed for the shower. When he emerged from the steam, Y/N was in the kitchen, donning her no-nonsense cotton robe and making coffee. Her long, heavy locks were tied up in a bun at the top of her head, and before he could open his mouth to greet her, she turned to face him, and handed him a tall glass of orange juice.

“Go running?”

“Yes,” he murmured, accepting the glass with a nod of thanks.

She let out a soft yawn and went to the coffee machine, “You want breakfast?”

“I can make it.”

Y/N snorted in her mug, “You tried that last week, remember? It didn’t go so well.”

Thinking of the way the eggs had practically gone up in flames, Steve winced, and downed his orange juice. There were a lot of things he was good at, but cooking certainly wasn’t one of them. Y/N, on the other hand, must’ve been a chef in a past life, because no matter what she made him, it always put him in a blissful food-coma.

“Waffles?” she asked.

He found himself grinning broadly, “Like you need to ask?”

Y/N playfully stuck her tongue out at him, and he rewarded her sass with a swat on her butt, which only made her laugh. As Y/N began to putter around the kitchen, Steve leaned against the counter next to her, content to watch her culinary skills.

It was strange to think of his life before he’d met her six years ago. Tony had been hunting around for a doctor to be with the team full time, but he hadn’t had much luck during the vetting process. With so many injuries and emergencies, they needed a doctor on call to handle their check-ups as well as moments that could potentially require a bone-saw. They basically needed a combat medic, but so many of the candidates had skeletons in their closets, and when it came to the health and well-being of the team, they couldn’t afford to have a single, weak link or loose-cannon.

Because he and Sam spent a lot of time at the VA and were all too familiar with hospitals, they’d agreed to help. There were a lot of doctors out there who had more years under their belt, but experience didn’t mean much in their line of work. When seconds mattered and nerves had to be steely, they needed someone who wouldn’t flinch.

Y/N didn’t flinch.

He’d observed her with her patients and during surgery many times – the confidence she exuded was extraordinary. Like Dr. Palmer, Y/N worked in the trauma unit, and based on her patient files, she’d – as Sam put it – “seen some shit.” She also volunteered at the VA and homeless shelters, offering her medical expertise and services free of charge, which only endeared her more to both himself and Sam. After a thoroughly extensive background check, and receiving the stamp of approval from Christine and Dr. Strange, she was plucked from her position at the hospital, and put on the team full-time.

Steve didn’t break as easily as some of the others on the team, but when he was hurt, she treated him as she treated the others. Y/N’s hands were gentle and soothing and her manner was no-nonsense with the stiches and ice-packs, both of which made him attracted to her. She fit into the team like she’d been there all along, and with everyone in the group being so headstrong and tight-knit, they’d needed someone who could simply pick up the ball and run with it. Though Y/N had a close, professional relationship with Dr. Strange and Dr. Palmer, her friendship with the team went bone-deep. Over time, she became something more than someone who patched them up when they got hurt. She was their care-giver, their solace, and a loyal friend.

For Steve, the scales tipped when Bucky and Natasha got ambushed during a routine fact-finding mission. Y/N had been on the team three years by then, and had seen her fair share of injuries, but nothing this life-threatening. They’d both been shot, and while Natasha’s wounds had been superficial, Bucky’s hadn’t. Natasha tried to get them both back to the compound, but his best friend’s injuries couldn’t wait, and her S.O.S. call meant Steve, Tony, Sam, and Y/N had been deployed via helicopter to rescue them.

They’d barely gotten Bucky to the hospital in time, and if anyone but Y/N had been in that chopper, he may not have survived. Bucky wasn’t a fan of hospitals or doctors, but he’d trusted Y/N to keep him safe and save his life. She was the one who stabilized him and performed the surgeries, ensured that nothing was done without Bucky’s consent, and that his recovery was spent in a private facility where she was the attendee. Y/N had been so fiercely protective of Bucky, not even an aspirin was given to him without her permission.

The night Bucky was discharged was the night Steve asked her out, and after three years of being on the team, and three years of being with him, Y/N showed no signs of wanting to get out. The fact that she’d put the team back together so many times, both literally and figuratively, and that Bucky trusted her – that made him believe in love again.

But it was moments like these – moments when she took care of him and no other – that made him fall in love with her.

“Chocolate chips or strawberries?” Y/N asked a few minutes later.

“Strawberries this time,” he replied, going to the fridge and retrieving them for her.

“You were doing it again,” Y/N stated, pouring the batter into the waffle iron.

Steve quirked an eyebrow and took the strawberries to the sink to rinse, “Doing what?”

“Staring,” she replied, closing the iron’s lid and reaching for a knife and cutting board.

“I like staring at you,” he replied honestly, handing her the container of fruit. “Believe it or not, it relaxes me.”

Y/N laughed and began to cut the stems away, “Is that a fact?”

He made a noise in the affirmative, which made her smile, shake her head, and set the knife down. She reached for a towel that was hung on the handle of the oven and wiped her hands.

“Alright, then, prove it,” she quipped, moving to stand in front of him.

“You’re not going to – yes, you are. You’re going to take my pulse again,” he muttered as she pressed her fingers to the pulse-point at his throat. “You’re not my doctor while we’re here, Y/N, remember?”

“Hush, darling. I’m counting.”

Steve grunted lowly, but kept quiet. A minute later, she pulled her hand back, and the warm weight of her palm rested on the center of his chest.

“Steve,” she murmured softly.

Y/N only said his name that way in two situations – when she was about to give him bad news, or when they were making love. He swallowed nervously and opened his eyes to find her staring up at him, with no trace of upset or apprehension. What he saw in her gaze made his formerly hard-earned, low heart-rate begin to rise. Y/N had looked at him in so many different ways – desirously, in awe, with vulnerability, indulgently, and even angrily and a bit mischievously. He never thought that out of all the expressions he enjoyed seeing on her face that pride would be his favorite.

“Thirty BPM.”

He mirrored her smile and placed his hand over hers, “I told you so.”

“Steve,” she said again, just as gently. “How badly do you want waffles right now?”

Knowing where the conversation was headed, he pretended to hem-and-haw, “They smell good, so, pretty badly.”

Y/N used her free hand to reach for the power cord to the waffle iron and yank the plug free from the socket. He pouted as she wound her arms around his neck and stood on tip toe to kiss him.

“Sex now, waffles later,” Y/N breathed against his lips. “Consider it doctor’s orders.”

Steve felt his heart-rate kick into overdrive as he unknotted the sash on her robe. In an instant, breakfast was completely forgotten, and in less than a minute, their clothes were strewn. They didn’t make it to the bedroom and they didn’t care.

Their time at the beach house was as needed as Y/N said it was and more memorable than Steve could’ve hoped. Most days were simply lazy and relaxing, the two of them spending time together, just talking and being at ease. Other days were full of excitement, like when Y/N surprised him with jet-skis and he romanced her with a candle-lit dinner on the beach. There was passion, of course, and it was evident in every room. The couch cushions and throw pillows that had once been pristine were completely ruined, and Steve was pretty sure he was responsible for the lamp on the side-table toppling to the floor and breaking in half. Y/N took the blame for the chaise lounge losing a leg, and they both agreed the king-sized bed frame splintering and the crack in the shower door was both their faults.

The second half of their time spent at the beach house went by too quickly, and before they knew it, they were packing their bags. Their final day marked their three-year anniversary, and it was spent in bed, making love, snacking on whatever food was left, and napping. As the day gave way to the afternoon, and afternoon gave way to evening, they clung to each other even more tightly.

“I don’t think I want to go back now,” he admitted, curling his arm around Y/N.

She rested her head on his chest and wrapped her arm around his waist, “You’re not ready to hang it up just yet, Cap.”

Knowing she was right, he sighed, and kissed the top of her head, “We’ll come back.”

“Really?” Y/N challenged, her tone suggesting she didn’t believe him.

Steve jerked his head toward the nightstand on her side of the bed, “Top drawer.”

Y/N whined and snuggled deeper into the blankets, “But I’m cozy.”

“It will be worth it,” he assured with a laugh.

She sighed as if she were put out, but he knew she was being playful. Steve waited until she was reaching for the nightstand before he quickly opened the drawer to his own, retrieved what he’d hidden, and stowed it beneath the blanket.

Y/N sat up, a large, manila envelope in her hand. With her brow furrowed, she pulled the sheet over her breasts and tucked it beneath her arms, “Steve, if this is another one of Tony’s stupid lab renovation proposals, I swear–”

“Just open it, would you?” he interjected.

Steve held his breath as she unwound the string, stuck her hand in, and retrieved the documents, along with a set of keys. She’d absentmindedly threaded her index finger through the keyring and was spinning it around, but once she realized what exactly it was she was reading, the keys stopped spinning, and fell with a gentle clink onto the bedspread.

“Steve,” she whispered, glancing from him to the documents and back again.

Steve sat up slowly and revealed the second surprise from beneath the blankets. Her eyes had already been wide, and they went wider still when he opened the box and sat it down on the stack of papers in her lap.

They both knew any day could be their last, but they never spoke of it. It wasn’t until they’d gotten closer to leaving the beach house that Steve thought about what life would look like without Y/N in it, and he didn’t like it. Though he’d loved Peggy very deeply, and her loss had wounded him in indescribable ways, he knew Y/N was his soul-mate, and if he ever lost her, he’d never recover.

Their time at the beach house had cemented what he’d felt for so long – he was in love with this woman and he was never going to let her go. And if she would have him, he would spend whatever life he had left loving her.

Taking her left hand in his, Steve put her middle and index fingers together, and pressed them to his throat.

“My pulse is just as steady and strong as I am,” he rasped. “And if you’ll let me, I’d like to spend the rest of our lives proving it to you. I’m in love with you. I want to marry you. And I want to come back here every year on our anniversary with you.”

Steve watched a soft smile spread across her lips. She pulled away just long enough to take the ring from the box and slip it on her finger. Y/N didn’t pause to admire it – she simply tossed the paperwork, ring box, and keys to the floor before pulling the sheet away and straddling his lap. Her kiss was just as passionate and tender as it had always been, and when she pulled back, she sighed contentedly.

“Does that mean yes?” he prompted, the warmth in her eyes giving him hope.

“30 BPM, Steve,” Y/N replied. “That always means yes.”


End file.
